The Hidden Tenant
by EvanescentInfinity
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester head to Canada to investigate the deaths of four hunters and discover that the demon behind the murders has a human accomplice. (Rated T for violence, swearing)
1. Chapter 1

The late-afternoon sun gleamed on the shiny black paint of the '67 Impala parked outside the dilapidated restaurant. The building was flanked by a small gas station and convenience store across the lot; except for the two structures, all that could be seen was a long stretch of highway, and _trees_.

Inside the roadside café, there were only a hand-full of guests; they were travellers and truckers, mostly. There were also, however, two young hunters.

Sam Winchester sat hunched over a laptop in a booth close to the back of the restaurant. His older brother, Dean, leaned over the table.

"This," Dean proclaimed, gazing reverently at the poutine in front of him, "is magnificent."

"Welcome to Canada," Sam said with a wry grin, rolling his eyes.

The two hunters, in all their cross-country road trips, had never before crossed the border. This was their first encounter with the cuisine of the land of hockey and universal healthcare, and Dean was having the time of his life.

"Why'd you want to come here again?" Dean asked through a mouthful of fries, cheese and gravy. "We should probably, you know, be concentrating on, oh, I don't know, closing the gates of Hell forever. Or something like that."

"Dude, don't talk with your mouth full."

Dean leaned back, seeming mildly offended. "Dude. I'm _hungry_. Why are we here?"

"Apparently there aren't many hunters up on the Canadian East Coast anymore. Garth has an acquaintance up here, there seems to be a big job, and there's no one to cover it. So, Garth said he'd send us…Apparently we were closest."

"We have got to get rid of whatever creepy tracking device that kid has on us," Dean said with an exaggerated shudder. "I feel violated. Why aren't there many hunters? Pretty fair game up here, isn't there?"

Sam's mouth curled up in a sarcastic half-smile. "There aren't enough hunters because they're all getting killed by whatever they're hunting."

"Oh. Good reason. But, seriously—it's worth the trip just for the food." Dean gestured towards the poutine. "Canadians are beautiful people."

"Hey. I found the article Garth was talking about. So, get this. Two men have been killed in the past four months, and another man and a woman have gone missing, all from the same area. And Garth said they're all hunters."

"So, missing hunters. Any idea what it is? Did Garth say anything more specific? For example, what we're supposed to be looking for?"

Sam squinted at the screen. "No…that's why he sent us. His friend has no idea what it is. Hunters have just been...disappearing…or dying, or both. No sulphur, no EMF, nothing. No one has seen anything, no one else has gone missing, and the two bodies that have been found were burned beyond recognition. Had to use dental records to know who they were."

"So it could be anything," Dean concluded gruffly. "Except a wendigo—too much fire. I'm going to grab another of these poutine things and then we can hit the road. Your turn to drive, Sammy." Dean tossed the keys to his brother, who caught them neatly.

Sam went to wait in the Impala. Five minutes later, Dean emerged, holding a take-out bag like an infant.

"Dude," he said, slamming the car door behind him. "Poutine_ burgers_. We have to come here more often."

...

Lyra waited until the line of light under her bedroom door blinked out before carefully removing the screen from her bedroom window—brushing a dusting of sulphur onto the floor—and climbing out onto the roof. There was a significant drop to the ground, but she landed lightly on the balls of her feet and caught her balance without falling.

Her destination was several miles away, but she seemed to travel it in a flash. She didn't bother knocking; she knew the door would be locked, as always. But she didn't need to break in. Lyra was welcome here. She unbolted the door, and the resulting _click _was like a gunshot in the moonlit silence.

"Dawn?" She called softly. Not that she had to. Dawn would have heard the door; not to mention the fact Dawn would be waiting for her.

Something caught Lyra's attention as she passed the open door of the kitchen. A white box lay haphazardly on the tile floor.

_Salt. _Something was wrong. Lyra listened, every cell in her body alert. She couldn't hear anything, but that didn't mean much. Dawn would have been able to hear if there was someone else in the house; she would have heard their heartbeat, and tasted on the tip of her tongue the saltiness of their blood before she even saw them.

But Lyra didn't have Dawn's advantage.

Now that she knew it was there, Lyra could see a faint trail of salt leading farther into the kitchen.

She was glad she had brought her gun.

The door was only slightly ajar; Lyra's body tensed as she raised the silver pistol and readied her foot, clad in its black combat boot, against the rough wood of the door…

With a deep breath, Lyra kicked open the door and exploded into the room, gun grasped with both hands.

"_Who are you?" _she demanded, confronting the stranger who had her girlfriend held captive in a devil's trap. He was younger than the other hunters they'd encountered in the area, tall and leanly muscular. Strangely enough, he wasn't wearing plaid or leather. _Some hunter_.

The cold water hit her like a wall. "The fuck was that for?" Lyra asked, sputtering.

She knew very well what it was for. But it wouldn't work.

Not on her.

The hunter paled: holy water, not affecting a demon? Surely he would have figured it out by now. Holy water didn't hurt Lyra for a very good reason: she was human.

Lyra kept her gun aimed at his head and tried to resist the urge to run straight to Dawn, who seemed to be unconscious. "I swear to God, hunter, if you exorcised my girlfriend I will _kill_ you." The stupid boy didn't even have another weapon; why would he bother, when holy water worked like a charm and humans should be more hostile to the demon in the room?

"Of course," she continued softly, "I'll probably have to kill you anyway. Why can't you people just leave us _alone?_"

"It might have something to do with the four people you've murdered in the past few months," the man spat, his pale blonde hair falling in front of his face.

"_You're the ones who won't leave us in peace,_" Lyra screeched. "We have spent _years _running from you. We never hurt anyone, not for ages. And now? This is only in self-defence." Lyra was having difficulty catching her breath. "Oh, and by the way? Make that _five_ people we've murdered."

He was dead before he hit the ground.

He was dead before Lyra hit the ground, casting the cold metal weapon away from her and gasping with sobs.

"Lyra?" Dawn's eyes were blinking open.

"I'm sorry, Lyra," she whispered.

Lyra, shaking with ragged breaths, reached for the painted lines on the tiles and scraped at the pattern until the circle was broken and Dawn was released. Lyra could see where the salt and holy water had burnt her arms and face, but the red skin was already healing. Dawn curled up next to Lyra and embraced her. Lyra leaned into Dawn's arms and saw a flash of her reflection as Dawn's eyes blinked for a moment into completely black orbs.

"Why can't they just leave us _alone,_" Lyra repeated futilely.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before the words slowed down and she fell asleep, face wet with guilty tears.

**(Author's note/disclaimer: I don't own Sam/Dean/Garth/any other characters original to Supernatural/the concept of hunting/etc.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**(Author's Note: F****or this chapter and subsequent chapters, just a warning that one of the characters deals with depression and suicidal thoughts.)**

It's not unusual for hunters to go missing; the job isn't exactly safe. There's no union, no human resources officers, and any training that could possibly be useful is strictly on the job. One wrong step and you could be dead, or worse. There is no health plan, no pension, no sick leave, and, for the most part, no salary.

Some hunters are born into the life. These are the luckier ones; or, at least, these are the ones who have the best survival rates. These are the hunters who grow up with weapons functioning as extensions of their limbs, the ones who know all the signs and symptoms and how to face them before they can even read.

But there are also hunters who stumble into the life, managing to stay just one step ahead of their prey until they learn to run faster. These are usually victims of tragedy, out for revenge or justice or simply for something to kill, someone to protect, because it is the only thing that can keep the gun aimed, always, away.

Whether a hunter is born into the life or not, disappearances and deaths are almost expected. It doesn't take much for any hunter to trip up and become prey. One false step, one too many beers, one ragged, revealing breath, and suddenly the hunter becomes the meal.

Four hunters, however, in the same small town, in such a short period of time...Now _that_ was worth looking into. Could it have all been coincidence? Sure. Two missing people, two burnt bodies; it could have been completely unconnected. Accidents; human monsters; various, unconnected creatures: it could have been anything. Coincidence was always a possibility; Sam and Dean knew this when they decided to take the job.

That is, until a fifth hunter woke up dead.

Coincidence?

It could hardly have been more deliberate.

…

"I'm telling you, I never seen anything like it, whatever it is. No sulphur, no EMF, no claw marks, no bites. He was killed by a gunshot wound to the head. Almost like it was a creature who's been trying to look human, you know?" Isabella—Garth's friend—explained as she led the boys to the morgue. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it _was_ a human."

Sam and Dean followed her down the cold hallway, uncomfortable in their cheap suits. Stumped at Canada's apparent lack of FBI or any other government agency that was prominent enough to not attract attention, they had decided to pose as private investigators. Isabella—whose husband had been the first to disappear—was more than willing to pretend she had hired them.

"If we hadn't both been hunters," she'd said, "I'd of hired one anyway. Me and Noah, we quit years ago—I left first, to become a nurse, and then he left to marry me. I wouldn't marry him while he was a hunter. Never marry a hunter, boys—can't trust them to stay," she advised them solemnly. "Guess I still couldn't, eh? He must've heard something, went to investigate. Said he was going fishing! And the son of a bitch never came back."

Sam had cleared his throat and then, awkwardly, asked whether his body had been found.

"Sure thing, boy. Some tourists found him burnt to a crisp on a hiking trail. All of his supplies with him, too: salt, holy water, silver, you name it. Could've been _any_thing he was hunting. Hard time explaining the salt and weapons to the police…they probably still think he set himself on fire…"

Now, Isabella punched in a code at the door of the morgue and swiped her ID across the reader. "You arrived just in time. Kenny, he only turned up dead earlier this morning. He was there when his wife woke up. Just laying there, bloody and stone cold, eyes open and a note pinned to his shirt collar. Over here."

Isabella pulled open one of the metal drawers and pulled back the sheet to reveal the body of a young, blonde man. "Twenty-three years old. Didn't know him well, but I knew his father. Started hunting after his parents were killed by a wendigo. Sorry to say I helped him. Should've kept him out of it."

Dean leaned over the corpse to examine the fatal wound.

"What's that on his chest?" he asked.

"_That _is where the note was pinned to his shirt," Isabella explained grimly.

Sam came closer to look at the stab wound over the boy's heart. "Where's the note?" he asked with a tight voice.

….

Lyra had left Dawn to take care of the body herself this time. She trusted her to eliminate any signs of a demon and to destroy the corpse so anything they might miss would go undetected—a trace of sulphur, a couple grains of protective salt. They couldn't take any more chances; they were already taking enough just by staying in this town.

Dawn had left about an hour ago, effortlessly transporting the grown man's body with her, but Lyra was still staring numbly at the now-incomplete devil's trap. It had been so close; Lyra had walked in at the beginning of an exorcism. Dawn must have regretted telling her the details; she always did. Lyra never held it against her, though. Dawn couldn't help it; she just wasn't able to understand such human sensitivity.

Noticing a streak of pale light stretching across the floor, Lyra snapped out of her stupor and checked the time on her cell phone. _Shit._ She was late. Not too late. She could still make it on time. But it was later than she was comfortable with.

Thankfully, her house was still quiet when Lyra returned. She peeked into the kitchen window and ducked down quickly when she saw her parents. Seeing them there at the table together was a relief—they didn't know she'd been gone—but it also sent a stab of pain through her chest. They were poring over sheaves of paper—and Lyra was willing to bet they were hospital bills. Universal health care could only go so far once you entered the realm of experimental procedures that kept you out of palliative care and, after the miraculous recovery, the best technology to keep you on your feet.

Lyra still felt guilty for getting sick.

She would never have put her family through that if she could have helped it; she knew that. But a small part of her still whispered and ranted, telling her things she'd rather not hear.

It told her lots of things, too human and flawed for Dawn to understand, which is why she kept them mostly to herself.

She couldn't have prevented her illness; she could have ended it. But she had held on, and it had paid off, and now they were happily in debt for the rest of their lives.

_This is what they wanted, _she scolded herself as she climbed the ivy-covered lattice up to her bedroom window. _Imagine the alternative. They'd have been heartbroken. And so would Emily. Growing up with the ghost of your big sister? Hardly ideal._

Once inside, she changed quickly into olive green shorts and a black tank top, brushed out her short brown hair and grabbed her backpack and a light jacket. At the last minute she remembered to wear her glasses. She wasn't really supposed to go without them, but it was a bad habit, and she forgot them too often.

She took a moment to check her cell phone for texts—Dawn might have tried to contact her. But there was only an awkward greeting from a boy, Will, who was in a few of her classes. She supposed she should answer; he'd sent the message last night. But she didn't feel like it, so she ignored him. Again. It wasn't as if she was interested.

Lyra bounded down the stairs; she didn't want to be late for school—it was one of the only things she was sort of good at. Stepping lightly into the kitchen, she exchanged good mornings with her parents.

"Where's Em?" she asked, taking a handful of pills from the "Tuesday Morning" section of her medication organizer.

"Sleeping in," her mom replied. "She's got a bit of a cold. And a spelling test she didn't study for this afternoon. I'll drive her in at lunch, once she's had some time to look over her notes."

"Hmm. I don't think you ever spoiled _me_ like that," Lyra noted in a singsong voice.

"Yeah, sure," her father said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "You'd have convinced us to let you stay home for the full day. You're going to be late if you don't leave soon," he added.

"Sure thing," she answered, heading towards the door. "Hey, don't wait up. I've got band practice and then I'm going to Shania's house to work on a history project."

"Don't be out too late!" she heard her mom call faintly as she left the house.

One of the advantages of being miraculously alive, Lyra had discovered, was that her parents would believe almost anything she told them. They also tended to give her more independence than they probably should have.

The bus stop was about ten metres up the road. Lyra ducked into the woods at the edge of the lane instead. She preferred to walk.


	3. Chapter 3

The note was slashed through the centre, wrinkled, and bloodstained, but still fairly legible. It looked like it had been written with a permanent marker, and contained faint traces of sulphur when analyzed under a microscope.

"Hey," Sam called to Dean. "So there's sulphur, but there's also traces of salt and human skin cells. The DNA belongs to a female; it's not the hunter's."

"So, this guy found a demon, tried to hunt it, and got himself killed," Dean said logically. "So all we've got here is a demon who's tracking hunters. It makes sense. Pretty smart one, too, covering its tracks till now."

"Yeah, but that's not it. The note. It just says, _Please stop trying to find us._"

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, so? Demon doesn't want to be found, what's so off about that?"

"Just. It's the _tone_," Sam explained. "It's not a threat. It's not cryptic. Dean, they said _please_. What kind of demon does that? Leave a non-threatening anonymous note asking politely that we stop hunting them?"

"Sammy, you're forgetting. Non-threatening notes aren't usually left pinned into a guy's heart."

Sam leaned over the microscope that Isabella had left them with in the lab next to the morgue. "There's just…something's not right. This is something different, Dean. And, _us, _stop trying to find _us_. How many are there? How can there be demons around here with no signs?"

"I'd call five dead hunters a pretty good sign. Anything else?"

"Yep." Sam flipped over the paper, which was packaged in plastic. "The demon? Not so smart. That blood right here? It isn't the hunter's, and it's got some pretty interesting stuff in it. Lots of different meds. I managed to get into the hospital records and actually got a match on it. Well, as close as I could within the time frame, but it should be accurate. It belongs to a Lyra Thomason who lives at—" Sam consulted a piece of paper. "—not far from here, anyway. Eighteen years old, lives with her parents and little sister. She had an older brother who died a few years ago."

"Why's her blood on hospital record?"

"Cancer," Sam said bluntly. "Pretty serious. The blood, it's being tested as a DNA sample; part of an ongoing experimental treatment that apparently worked pretty well…"

"But?"

"But only on her. No other successes that came through that well. Not even close. Do you think…?"

Dean nodded. "I think we got our demon."

Dean started to stroll out of the room.

"Wait," Sam added. "There's another thing…Lyra's still in school. Her attendance is perfect, great grades. Still living with her parents. Why would she do that if she was a demon?"

"You tell me, Sammy. You're the one who always liked school."

Sam glared at his brother and pursed his lips in annoyance. "It just doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't she leave?"

"How am I supposed to know, Sammy? I'll tell you what. You can ask her once we've got her caught in a devil's trap."

….

Adults always seem to be saying that high school is the best years of your life. For the average teen, high school is a mixture of pointless work, peer pressure, and unreasonable expectations.

Lyra didn't mind high school, but she knew she'd never include those three years within the best of her life. Even without the murder; even without the cancer.

Most people knew who Lyra was: if not by name, by illness. She'd missed the previous semester; doing whatever homework packages she could from her hospital bed through the winter and spring. Now, after a summer of almost perfect recovery, she was still the sum of her illnesses to most of the students, except for a few of her closest friends.

Imagine if they also knew she had a girlfriend who was _literally _from Hell.

Imagine…

She smiled to herself. She almost wished she could tell them everything, if only for the melodramatic reactions—especially with proof. Hell, if she ever told anyone, she'd _have _to have proof.

There are a lot of people in this world who would believe Lyra without a second thought if she told them she'd been saved from her deathbed by an angel. She'd even encountered a few who had told _her_, eyes glazed with zeal and tears of pity and belief, that it was a miracle, an angel sent by God…

There weren't many humans, however, who would believe Lyra if she told them the truth: that it hadn't been an angel, but a devil that had saved her. Healing powers weren't exactly the most popular talents of demons, but they were strong. Almost as strong, Lyra had discovered, as the love that could fuel such miraculous abilities.

Dawn had saved her. That, Lyra never doubted. She had saved her, and given her this second chance. Lyra owed Dawn her life; and yet, as Dawn had whispered to her one night while her fingers traced patterns on Lyra's back, Lyra had saved Dawn, too…

_Dawn._ Who was more than the sum of her sins, who was less than human and more than Lyra imagined an angel ever could be. Dawn, with her bright red hair and black eyes flashing, with her tattoos scrawled across her breastbone—Enochian symbols of concealment—and her dark clothing. Whose true face may be hidden, but which Lyra had seen, and loved just as much as the face Dawn wore like a mask.

It wasn't until she met Dawn that Lyra had truly understood what love meant. It was more, so much more than the high school romances she'd experienced before; it was alive and singing and growing with its utter _much_ness. It was the warm constriction of her chest when she saw her; it was the way she couldn't stop smiling at the thought of her.

Lyra would have done anything for her, and anything to protect her.

_That_ was why she kept the pistol with her, always; _that_ was why there was a knife tucked into her boot.

_That_ accounted for much of the guilt that kept her awake, even when she stayed home all night.

Lyra was a murderer, and she would keep murdering if she had to. Self-defence; protecting her loved ones. The guilt? It had nothing to do with her motives.

It was all about the pleasure. As much as she tried to lie to herself, Lyra enjoyed it.

And _that_ made her feel guilty as Hell.

...

"Doesn't really look like a demon lives here, eh Sammy?" Dean said, picking up a stuffed bear from the bed and then throwing it back.

"Dean. " Sam was standing in front of the window. He touched the sill and raised his hand, showing his brother the powder that clung to his fingers. "Sulphur."

"Awesome," Dean grunted, taking a can of spray paint from his duffel bag and lifting up the rug that lay in front of the door. "Now we just got to wait for her to get back from school and exorcise the son of a bitch."

"And hope she gets home before her parents do," Sam added grimly. "Dean, you _do_ realize how this will affect them. Without the demon, Lyra will die."

"What are we supposed to do, let the demon stay in her body, killing people? Either way it's not going to turn out well for them." He shook the spray paint can and continued outlining the devil's trap. "Better to lose their daughter than be killed in their sleep."

"Is it?" Sam asked softly.

"Listen Sammy, this is a demon who has already murdered five hunters. We're not going to show it mercy just because the parents of the girl it's possessing will miss her. Okay?"

"Alright," Sam agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "Let's just get this over with today. Head back in the morning to keep looking for help on the first task."

Most people don't realize how much time hunters must spend _waiting_. Waiting for news of a hunt; waiting for information; waiting for the prey to show up. Sometimes, Sam and Dean would play cards while they waited; sometimes they would just sit and listen to music. But most of the time, the two brothers would take turns sleeping—or, at least, trying to sleep. Shuteye was hard to come by when the world was this complicated.

This time, however, they just sat against the wall of Lyra's room, strategically placed so Lyra wouldn't be able to see them until she walked into the devil's trap. There wasn't much time to wait, after all, should Lyra come home directly after school. There was no way they could have known that she had plans to stay out late, as usual.

Then again, they did have a considerable amount of luck.


	4. Chapter 4

Lyra did in fact come home straight from school; a small but unfortunate change of plans.

She didn't notice anything odd when she entered the house; she didn't notice anything strange at all until she walked into her room and found two strange men in what she had thought was an empty house. In what was _supposed_ to be an empty house.

"What the _fuck_?" Her voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What are—what the hell are you doing here?"

The men were young-ish; maybe in their early thirties at most. Reasonably attractive—one might call them rugged.

They were wearing a lot of plaid. That was Lyra's first clue.

Her second?

There was a line of bright red spray paint visible at the edge of her rug. Cautiously, keeping an eye on the hunters, Lyra pulled back the edge of the carpeting. Thankfully, she remembered that she shouldn't know what it meant. "What the hell? What are you, Satanists?"

"I think we should be the ones asking that question, sweetheart," the one with the short hair said lightly. "You ever meet him when you were down there? Sammy here, he's met him before. Haven't you, Sammy?"

The taller one, who had shoulder-length hair, glared down at him. "Let's just get this over with," he mumbled, opening a small leather book. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

Lyra recognized the Latin incantation. She'd heard it before—most of it, anyway. It made her skin crawl. She began to back away slowly. "What are you doing?" She turned to the shorter one. "What is he doing?"

"Uh…Sammy?"

But the larger hunter had already stopped reading mid-exorcism.

"Awesome," the shorter one added. "This is just awkward."

Lyra had left the devil's trap. She successfully repressed a grin. "Get out of my house. I'm calling the police—"

They were already on their way out. "We're really sorry," the tall one apologized, arms raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Just _go_," she urged, trying her best to sound like a frightened child.

And then they were gone.

Lyra waited until she heard the door slam shut, and then watched from the dormer window in the upstairs hallway as they walked up the road. A minute later, a shiny black Impala revved up the lane.

Frantically, she pressed Dawn's number on the speed-dial of her cell phone. It went straight to voice-mail.

_Fuck_. She left a message anyway.

"Dawn, there were two hunters here. Looking for _me_, they thought I was a demon? They painted a devil's trap on my floor and waited in my bedroom." She breathed deeply, trying to calm down. "Listen. They're gone; I played innocent. But they know there's a demon somewhere and they are looking for you. And they will exorcise you, no questions asked. So please, please, please be really careful, and—" A sharp beep cut her off. She called right back.

"Just be careful, okay? I don't know how they found me. How could they have found me? I'm not connected to anything a hunter would think was demonic. I mean, nothing they'd notice. Fuck. Call me back when you get this, okay? I need to know you're alright.

"I love you," she added, and hung up.

_Fuck._

Lyra paced up and down the hallway. She should go find Dawn. Check the house. But what if the hunters were still there, watching? She'd seen their car go. She hadn't heard it come back. Why would they be watching her? They knew for sure she wasn't a demon. She should go. Dawn. She had to find Dawn.

Lyra grabbed her bag and ran out of the house, not even bothering to see if anyone was watching, not even bothering to conceal herself.

….

She really should have stayed home.

….

Sam had been standing just a few metres away from the door, only partially hidden behind a large oak tree. He'd been planning to cross the lawn to what was an ideal place to watch the house, but he hadn't had time before the young girl came bursting out of the house.

If she had so much as glanced towards him, she'd have seen him.

But as the world goes, love is a strong force. Even love for a demon; it's blinding. Perhaps it doesn't weaken you, but it dulls the senses; it even dulled Dawn's demonic senses to a point. Lyra was functionally blind when she ran out of that house because she couldn't see past her fear for Dawn's life.

So it goes. Love can destroy, and hatred can save. That was a part of being a hunter, but it was also part of being the hunted.

Lyra had been hunter, and now she was prey. Dawn? She'd always been both.

The hunters, they were enemies. Their safety was no concern of Lyra's.

Running through the woods, though, she felt a pang of guilt stab her insides, and she imagined the hunters dying. Imagined how their families would find out. Was the death of a hunter like the death of a soldier? Was there a designated hunter who had to inform the family, who had to knock on that door with a hand clad in dark leather instead of white silk? Lyra imagined a monument, a marble statue marking the body of an unknown hunter. Was there such a thing? A memorial for the hunters' dead, under the guise of modern art or a landmark?

_There should be,_ Lyra thought. _They deserve it. They're only trying to help…_

Lyra thought back to the summer, during her first months with Dawn. Their first victim—completely necessary, he would have killed them both—was in late June. The psychological impact it had had on Lyra was enough for her parents to urge her to go to a therapist.

Lyra had agreed, eventually; really, there wasn't much she wouldn't have done at that point to make her parents happy. After all, she had just nearly died. In fact, she_ had_ died, momentarily, at one point in her illness. Revival had been quick, but Lyra imagined that it had still been awful for her parents.

She enjoyed speaking to the therapist, though it was hard to do so honestly without any mention of supernatural beings and forces. She spoke about Dawn, but not in depth, and certainly not in relation to her species or her role in Lyra's survival. Imagine if she had told the doctor she'd sold her soul! That certainly would have been an interesting conversation.

Lyra was so fixed on her thoughts that she didn't hear the hunter's footsteps. Sam wasn't being very careful, though one could hardly blame him. Lyra was _fast_, and lives were at stake. He'd called Dean, who'd estimated their direction and, with help from Isabella, pinpointed an abandoned farmhouse in their path. He was going to drive there in the Impala and head them off. It would be particularly fortunate should the farmhouse turn out to be Lyra's destination…

Really, it was the Winchesters' lucky day. Lyra? She would have her turn, and soon; but today belonged to the hunters.


	5. Chapter 5

There are a lot of precedents set in hunting. Come across a vampire? Cut off its head before it can drink you dry. Werewolf? Shoot it with silver as soon as you're certain. Got yourself a vengeful spirit? Salt and burn the body and you should be set. Find a demon? Get info if you need it, and then exorcise it. Try to save the human if you can. There's a bit of a judgement here, but basically it's all clear.

But through their years of hunting and being hunted, Sam and Dean Winchester had often found that precedent, while ideal, was hardly perfect. Sometimes, vampires were like family. Sometimes, werewolves could control themselves; sometimes, vengeful spirits were only trying to help.

But with demons, the precedent was almost always accurate. You can't exactly change your species if you're a demon, and you can't ignore the fact that you are completely devoid of compassion and empathy. At best, demons can become anti-heroes; good guys working for their own gain and at a cost—usually, a high body count.

Maybe Lyra wasn't a demon, but she sure as Hell knew something. Why else would she have run?

Why else would she have flinched at the sight of the devil's trap?

She knew something, Sam and Dean were sure of it. Or, more accurately: she knew some_one_.

But why on Earth would she be trying to protect a soulless creature from Hell?

The Winchesters were pretty certain. _A demon deal, then_, Sam had suggested as they left her house, and Dean had nodded in agreement. There was only really one thing that didn't quite fit. Demons tended to move on after they were done dealing. This, this was something different. Something _new_.

There was also the small matter of Lyra's blood on a dead body, and whatever information she was hiding…

Sam, running haphazardly through the brush, lost sight of Lyra for a moment, and then emerged from the forest into a clearing dominated by a dilapidated house. Dean had just arrived, and jumped from the Impala.

"Sam!" he yelled, gesturing towards the front of the house, which was hidden from Sam's view.

Sam rounded the ramshackle building. There was Lyra, trapped between Dean and the steps. Suddenly, the front door burst open.

_Now _there's_ our demon, _Sam thought, momentarily distracted by the new arrival. The person she was possessing appeared to be about the same age as Lyra, with bright red hair. She was clothed entirely in various degrees of black, and tattoos reached up from her collar to curl around her neck. Her eyes were dark grey, but snapped to black as she regarded the scene in front of her.

Dean, who was standing closer to her, was certain he heard her curse before she dissolved into thin air. "Fuck!" he yelled after her. A second later, he was turning towards Lyra, who had realized she was cornered and was looking quite panicked.

"Where did she go?" Dean demanded, stalking towards her. "Where is—"

But he didn't get to finish his question. The demon reappeared next to Lyra and then teleported with an audible _crack_—Lyra disappearing with her.

"Fuck. Fuck!" Dean shouted angrily. "What the hell. What is even going on here? How the fuck."

"Calm down, Dean! We'll find them." Sam loped over to the car. "We'll set traps here, just in case. Then I'll watch her house, you stay here, okay?"

"Damn it, Sammy. Okay. Just let me get some stuff from the trunk," Dean agreed gruffly.

Sam sighed.

_This is going to be a long night._

….

Lyra didn't return to her house that night, nor did the two girls go back to the farmhouse. In the morning, the Winchesters returned to Isabella's house for a few hours of sleep and some breakfast; Isabella had been kind enough to allow them to stay with her instead of in the local motel, which she swore would be full of bed bugs.

"Besides," she'd told them, "I sort of miss having company, with Noah gone and the kids living out West for work."

By the time the boys finished breakfast, it was mid-morning, about ten-o'clock or so. Sam asked Isabella for the Wi-Fi password.

Several minutes later, he looked over at Dean in shock. "Lyra's in school."

"Yeah, you've told me," Dean grunted.

"No, I mean, she's in school _now. _Like, this very minute now. Look." Sam turned his laptop so Dean could see the screen. "This is her attendance record, Dean. She's there. Second class, Bio 12, room 305."

"What the hell? She actually went to school today? Is she stupid or what?"

"Not with those marks. She's making all high nineties."

"You know what I mean. Come on, let's go."

"What do you mean, let's go? This is a high school, Dean. We can't just walk in there armed."

"Actually, there's one way you could," Isabella interrupted, entering the room. She smiled. "How do you boys feel about being Mounties for the day?

"Mounties?" Dean asked with a look of confusion.

"Yup. Got some old uniforms of Noah's from when we used to hunt. Should fit you two just fine. And they'll let you in, no problem, so long as you say Lyra's in a ton of shit. She's eighteen, so the school doesn't even have to contact her parents."

"Sounds great!" Sam shrugged, glancing at Dean.

….

"Sounds not so great," Sam muttered as he adjusted the bright scarlet tunic. "This is ridiculous." He unsuccessfully tried to flatten the puffed, yellow-striped sides of the black pants.

"Dude, this is awesome," Dean announced, emerging from the guest room he was staying in, decked out in full RCMP uniform. "Why can't the FBI wear stuff like this?"

"I don't know, Dean, maybe they don't want to blend in too much."

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam grumbled, donning the brown Stetson hat that completed the uniform.

"You ready?"

Sam glared at him.

"What? C'mon, let's hit the road," Dean said, grinning and tipping his hat.

Sam rolled his eyes and followed his brother out to the car.

**Author's note: Sorry for the shorter chapter! I'll try to post a longer one later tonight or tomorrow. Reviews are always welcome (constructive, negative, positive, whatever). Please tell me what you think! :) **


	6. Chapter 6

Dawn thought Lyra was being stupid. Maybe she was, but Lyra didn't care. She'd rather be stupid and brave than smart and cowardly—which was almost never a good choice, although Lyra refused to see it.

But really, what was the use of hiding if she wouldn't leave the town? She couldn't hide forever in such a small place, and Lyra had no intention of giving up her hometown because some idiots thought she was evil. She'd already given up too much to stay with her family.

"I'll be careful, Dawn, I promise," Lyra had repeated. "It's not like I'm completely defenseless. And school should be safer than at home, right? There's more people, plus the security and stuff. I'll be fine. I'm not giving up. Not this time. Not after I've made it so far."

"I worry about you," Dawn had said with a pained expression, "I love you." And though Lyra knew how difficult it was for the demon to feel emotion, she believed every word.

"I love you too," she'd whispered in reply. "But I have to do this."

"I know you do, but I don't like it."

Lyra had eventually agreed to text Dawn as often as she could throughout the day. Now, as the bell rang for third class, Lyra packed up her biology book and walked quickly to her next class, global history. She was on edge, looking over her shoulder too often. _Stop it_, she scolded herself. _They're not here. How could they be here? Besides, they're probably searching for Dawn. _

That unwelcome thought didn't exactly comfort her. _It's your fault they found her. Dawn's in danger because of you…your fault…_

_Shut up! _Lyra thought furiously.

Arriving at her next classroom, she took her usual seat, which was halfway towards the back of the room and faced the door. A pretty good vantage point, really, although anyone walking past the room could look through the tiny window and see her immediately. She'd be able to see them, too, however, and the windows at the back of the class were open…it would only be a two-story drop if she was desperate.

_You're being ridiculous, Lyra. _I know, she answered silently, shaking her head and trying to relax.

"Hey Lyra!"

Lyra turned to Allison, who was sitting to her right, as usual. Another stab of anxiety turned to shame as she realized how she'd been neglecting her (former?) best friend. "Hey," Lyra returned, managing a smile.

"We haven't really talked in a while." Allison's tone was light, but her eyes looked accusing. Or worried; Lyra wasn't sure which. "How are you? Like…how _are_ you?"

Right. "I'm good," Lyra said earnestly. Of course she wanted to know how she was. That's all everyone had wanted to know for the past eight months or so. _How are you? _

In the hospital, Lyra had tried to think up witty responses. _Damn fine, _she'd once told an aunt. _You tell me,_ she'd grumbled to a nurse. But after she was better, she went back to the socially acceptable, expected answers. It wasn't fair to judge them for not knowing what to say. They couldn't understand. They didn't know how.

"Hey, did you see the Mounties? Isn't it crazy?" Allison asked excitedly.

"Mounties? What are you talking about?"

Will—_shit I didn't text him back_, Lyra remembered—came into the classroom and sat in front of Allison.

"There's two of them, one at either end of this hall," Will said, joining the conversation.

"They were in the lobby together when I saw them. You have to see them, Lyra, they're _gorgeous_."

Lyra raised a sceptical eyebrow. _I doubt that._

"Oh!" Allison squealed. "Here, look. Tammy sent me a pic of them!"

Lyra took the phone, just to humour Allison, and nearly dropped it when she saw the photo.

"Lyra? Are you okay?" Will asked, concerned. "You look really pale…"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." She handed the phone back. "Um, yeah. They're, uh, cute?"

_Cute. _As if.

Maybe if they weren't trying to kill her girlfriend.

Allison beamed.

Lyra felt like she was going to be sick. She took out her own phone to text Dawn.

_Dawn, the hunters are here. I'm sorry, I should've listened to you. You should leave. I love you! _

Five seconds later, her phone buzzed.

_I'm coming to get you. Two minutes. Love you_.

Lyra didn't want Dawn to get hurt, but she wanted her to be here... Reluctantly, she answered:

_It's too late, don't come!_

She had just pressed _send_ when the classroom door opened and Dawn stalked in gracefully, immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

Lyra's breath caught in her throat with fear and astonishment.

"Hi," Dawn said to the teacher, scanning the class with her harsh gaze. Lyra was struck by how _superior_ the demon seemed. "I just got transferred to this class? I'm Dawn."

She stared at Lyra now and raised an eyebrow. Lyra smiled and blushed. She felt her face grow even warmer when she noticed that Will was also staring at her. _What? _she hissed, but he just shook his head and turned away.

Dawn strutted down the aisle and sat several desks behind Allison. She didn't have a notebook or pen, but that wasn't a problem; everyone seemed to want to share with her, and quickly supplied her with pen and paper.

Lyra turned around and caught her eye. Dawn smiled sweetly at her and mouthed, _I love you._

Lyra reddened furiously and turned to the front of the class, grinning. She glanced to her right and saw Allison and Will turning from her to exchange inquisitive looks. Lyra looked back to Dawn, who seemed angry; her eyes were locked on the classroom door.

Lyra followed her gaze.

_Fuck. _

A hulking figure could be seen through the window. It was a man, with long hair and a red coat.

The hunters were here.

….

Isabella had been right; it wasn't difficult to gain access to the school. But the uniforms certainly attracted attention.

Sam and Dean were sitting in the outer office, waiting to speak with the principal. It was during the ten-minute break between classes, and students were crowding at the glass doors, watching them; some were taking photos, giggling. Sam was embarrassed, but Dean flashed a smile at the students every couple minutes. Finally, they were called into the inner office. Dean waved at the teens and tipped his hat at the secretary, who blushed and returned quickly to her computer.

"Hello, officers, what can I do for you?" the principal, Ms. Johnson, asked distractedly, setting a sheaf of paper to the side and typing momentarily at her laptop. Sam and Dean sat in the uncomfortable chairs in front of her desk. Dean took off his hat; Sam, feeling ridiculous wearing it, had left his in the Impala.

"We need to talk to one of your students. Lyra Thomason," Dean explained, eyeing a bowl of candy on the desk.

"Lyra?" The principal looked directly at the Winchesters for the first time. "Why would you need to speak to Lyra?"

"We just have a few questions for her," Sam answered vaguely.

"Well, I'm afraid that under the Youth Criminal Justice Act, you will have to contact her parents before you speak to her."

Sam kicked Dean in the shin; he was helping himself liberally to the candy. "I believe Lyra's eighteen, and therefore no longer protected under the YCJA. Also," he added hesitantly, taking out a piece of paper, "we have a warrant for her arrest."

The principal was giving them her full attention now. Her face paled. "A warrant…? _Lyra Thomason…?"_

Sam slid the paper onto the desk and mentally crossed his fingers that any mistakes Isabella may have made—she'd warned them she wasn't certain of the quickly fabricated warrant's accuracy—would go unnoticed.

The middle-aged woman unfolded the fake warrant and read it carefully, her expression growing more and more shocked and concerned. "Lyra…_murder_? What…?

"I suppose, I suppose I should, I'll get her paged to the office…and get the school police officer in, that's board policy…"

"Uh, actually," Dean interrupted, "we need to go arrest her, by ourselves, we can't risk her running away. Could you just tell us what classroom she's in right now and get us a floor plan of the school?"

The principal paused, uncertain. "That doesn't quite follow our policy…"

Sam leaned forward. "Ma'am, this is a warrant for a suspect in three murders and two disappearances. There are lives at stake, and following the school policy may compromise the safety of everyone in this building."

The principal looked at the boys steadily for several moments, deliberating. Finally, she nodded almost mechanically.

"Alright. I'm trusting you. _Don't _let me down," she warned.

As the temporary Mounties left the office, following Ms. Johnson, who was finding a copy of the floor plan used to mark fire exits, Sam felt a pang of anxiety stab his stomach.

_I hope we don't let you down._


	7. Chapter 7

Lyra thought she was going to be sick.

This was it. Whatever happened, her life in this town would be over.

There was no sequence of events she could possibly imagine in which the two girls could escape the classroom without—without what? Killing the hunters? Magically disappearing in front of everyone?

The hunters would try to arrest them, Lyra was pretty certain. They couldn't exactly perform an exorcism in front of the whole class.

She could feel the pistol tucked into its holster at the waistband of her black leggings, concealed by her oversized red flannel shirt, but it wasn't loaded. She'd balked at the idea of bringing a loaded weapon into a school, but had taken the pistol anyway. The hunters would have no way to know it was useless if she didn't let them.

There was, however, a relatively small but quite useful knife tucked into her right boot.

_Wait. They don't know Dawn is here. They came for _me, Lyra remembered.

She turned from the silhouette behind the door to look back at Dawn.

"Go," she hissed, her eyes pleading. Allison and Will—and several of the other students—were close enough to hear her, but Lyra didn't care.

Dawn's face was blank as she slowly shook her head. "It's time, Lyra," she said, not even bothering to lower her voice.

_Time for what? _Lyra thought.

_Time to let me wake up. _Lyra heard the voice, but she couldn't tell where it had come from. "Who said that?" she asked out loud.

The teacher paused mid-sentence, probably to tell Lyra to be quiet, but didn't have time.

There was a knock at the door.

….

Sam and Dean waited until classes had started and the hallway was deserted before approaching the room in which Lyra should be. The plan was simple: arrest Lyra, take her to the old farmhouse, and then wait for Dawn to show up.

But when Sam looked into through the window into the classroom, he realized that the plan had just gotten quite simpler—yet infinitely more complicated.

"Dean. The demon's in there too."

"What the fuck? What's going on here? What are we supposed to do now, exorcise it in front of the class?"

"Can we just say we're arresting both of them and then, I don't know, exorcise her out here?"

"Don't be stupid, this is a high school."

Sam was silent for a moment, and then glanced up at the ceiling.

"Yup. A high school, with a PA system."

Dean grinned. "Awesome. You run back down to the office, tell the principal you have to make an announcement. I'll stick to the first plan, keep everything under control here."

Sam nodded. "What about the demon, though? When the exorcism starts and she realizes what's happening? We can't let her go, but we can't exactly let her smoke out in front of the entire class."

But Dean suggested that he draw a devil's trap outside the classroom door. "With any luck, I'll have her trapped here, and the classroom door closed."

"And if that doesn't work out?"

Dean shrugged. "She gets away, and we go after her. Or, she smokes out in front of all those kids and they live the rest of their lives with the crippling knowledge of what's really out there. Easy as pie. But I don't think Lyra will let her. Obviously Lyra wants to be normal or whatever, no way she's going to let her blow her cover in front of everyone."

Sam rolled his eyes, but agreed. "I don't have a better idea," he admitted.

"Exactly. Hurry up with the exorcism, though, alright Sammy?"

"Sure thing," Sam said, and left.

Dean, realizing he hadn't taken any spray paint with him, ducked into the next empty classroom and grabbed a large permanent marker. After quickly outlining the symbol on the dirty tile floor, he took off his hat and knocked sharply at the classroom door.

….

Downstairs, Sam entered the office and, taking a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket—a copy of the Latin exorcism—asked the secretary whether he could make an announcement over the public address system. "Just to room 328," he specified.

"Sure thing, hun," the secretary answered. _Beth_, her nametag read. "Hey. That's…" she blushed slightly. "Sorry, it's none of my business, but why are you announcing an exorcism?"

"What? You know what this is?"

"Yeah…you're not actually RCMP, are you? You're hunters."

"How do you…?"

"My mom," Beth explained. "She was a hunter. I mean, she pretty much quit after my sister was born. But she still taught me enough to defend myself."

Sam handed her the paper. "Do you, do you think you could announce it for me? Just in that room? We've…" Sam checked to make sure there was no one near. "We've got a demon up there. We've got it under control, but it would be a big help if I could be there—"

"No problem," she said solemnly,

"Thank you!" Sam called over his shoulder as he left to return to the classroom.

Beth, holding the paper in a shaking hand, turned in her chair to reach the announcement system. The scrawled words were familiar, although she hadn't needed them for years…hadn't said them since before her mother's death. _Focus,_ she scolded herself.

"Excuse me for the interruption, but I've…" _I've what? I've got a demon to expel from your classroom_? "…I've been given a—a poem to read, from the, the local Latin Society as an incentive for new members to learn this beautiful language…"

….

_Time to let me wake up_

"Who said that?"

There was a knock at the door.

_Fucking shit_, Lyra thought. _Shit. _

_Don't be afraid. I won't let them hurt you so long as you let me wake up._

"Who _said_ that?" Lyra repeated shrilly. Half the class turned to gawk at her, but the others were preoccupied with the "Mountie" who had just entered the room, and who was conversing quietly with the teacher, Mr. McKenzie.

The loudspeaker beeped and a voice started speaking, but Lyra didn't listen. A pain shot through her head and she winced.

"Lyra."

_Dawn?_

Dawn closed her eyes in discomfort and tilted her head to the side. With horror, Lyra realized what the voice over the loudspeaker was saying.

"…_omnis immundus spiritus_…"

"I have a warrant for the arrest of Lyra Thomason," one of the hunters announced. The second had just appeared, standing inside the doorway. "Lyra Thomason?"

"What?" Will actually stood up. "What the hell?"

"Will, sit down," Mr. McKenzie ordered. Will obeyed, reluctantly.

"…_omnis satanica potestas_…"

You _should probably stand up now. _Lyra stood, heart beating fast in terror and anger.

"I'm Lyra."

"…_omnis incursio infernalis…"_

"Lyra Thomason, you are under arrest for five counts of first degree murder—"

There was a collective gasp from the class. Not necessarily because of the charges, although that did play a part in their shock.

No, there was another, more pressing reason for their astonishment and dread.

Because at that moment, the new student had stood and swiftly raised her hands in what could have been mistaken as a gesture of surrender.

Her red hair whipping out behind her, a surge of power was released from Dawn's outstretched palms, throwing the hunters against the wall on either side of the door, which was slammed shut in the process. The weapons that the hunters had been able to draw in the moments before she was able to restrain them were pitched across the room—a gun and _oh Hell that's a knife that could actually _kill_ me, _Dawn realized.

Dawn stepped forward, and Will caught a glimpse of her eyes as she passed his desk. They were completely black, not just the irises, but the parts that were supposed to be white, too.

_What the fuck?_

He turned to see Lyra—_murder? Lyra? _But suddenly, he could believe it.

Lyra was standing—her arms were outstretched, too, but not in false surrender. Lyra was grasping a silver pistol, and she was aiming it at the Mounties.

_"…__adverarii, omnis legio…"_

"Lyra," Dawn said sharply, her eyes never leaving the hunters.

"You have to let her wake up."


	8. Chapter 8

Lyra didn't even notice she'd drawn the gun until she was pointing it with trembling hands at the hunters. _Sam and Dean Winchester. _How did she know that? _We all know that._

"What's happening to me?" she asked, but her voice was hoarse and it came out as a nearly inaudible whisper.

"Lyra," she heard Dawn say as if from a distance, "you have to let her wake up."

_Let _who_ wake up?_

Lyra blinked several times to try and get her vision back into focus. The hunters didn't seem to know what was going on, either.

….

Will saw his chance and he took it.

The first Mountie's knife, when knocked from his hand, had skittered across the floor and had come to rest in front of Will's feet.

In one fluid motion, Will swooped down to grab the knife and then stood and stepped forward to hold it pointed at Dawn's back, the tip just to the left of her spine, where her heart would be. He saw her muscles stiffen under the cool metal, which was silver and so shiny it was almost glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"Let them go," he commanded, trying desperately and somewhat successfully to prevent his voice from cracking.

"Human, you do not know what they are," she hissed. "They would kill you, too, should you stand in their way." One of the Mounties tried to speak, but Dawn pushed her hands out slightly further and he choked instead.

"I don't know what _you_ are either," Will pointed out.

She turned her head so he could see her face. Her eyes were normal again, but she wore a cruel smile. "I'm _you_," she said, "give or take a couple hundred years in the pit," and her eyes snapped to empty black.

"Will, put the knife down."

….

"Put it down, Will," Lyra repeated.

Her hands weren't shaking anymore as they aimed the weapon at Will.

"No," he said, his jaw set in a grim expression. He shook his head as if in a daze. "No. What is she? What are _you_?"

"I'm human, Will, and so was she. Put it down."

"No."

_He doesn't care. You know what to do, Lyra._

Lyra looked to Dawn, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

She slowly lowered the gun, and then raised it again, holding it in her left hand now. She felt detached, as if she wasn't really in charge of her own movements.

She rested it against her temple.

"Will." Her voice was clear and calm.

"Will, put the knife down."

….

Allison was crying.

A few other people were, too, but Will could hear Allison best; she was closest.

_You can finish this, _he thought. _Just do it. Stab her. It's self-defence; the police are already here, they're witnesses. They won't arrest me; they'll honour me. I'll be a hero. _

But he couldn't. "Lyra. Lyra, don't," he pleaded.

"Drop it. Drop it _now,_" Lyra barked, and there was something different about her eyes. They weren't black, like the stranger's; they were just…not quite Lyra's. "Three seconds, Will."

"…_Ergo, draco maledicte_…"

"Three."

_Is she serious?_

"Two."

"Lyra, stop!"

"One."

Lyra squeezed the trigger.

….

There was a sharp _click _and Will began to breathe again as he realized the gun wasn't loaded.

"Oops," Lyra said calmly, lazily dropping the pistol onto a desk with a clatter. "Guess that won't work."

Dawn was furious. "What the Hell, Lyra?" Angrily, and without warning, she twisted one of her arms, causing the hunters' gun to fly into Dean's hand. Will pressed the blade even harder against her back, and she held back a scream as it broke the skin. A small trickle of blood seeped into her grey shirt.

"…_adjuramis te_…"

Dawn forced Dean to raise the gun.

"No!" Sam yelled, but it was too late.

There was a loud _crack. _

Lyra collapsed, a pool of blood running from her temple.

….

She knew this feeling. She'd known it before. She'd felt it in the hospital once, as she'd taken what was supposed to be her last breath.

She shouldn't have woken up, but she had.

The doctor had called the time of death. Lyra had heard it, faintly, just as she had heard her parents' sobs. She supposed she should have been sad, or at least disappointed. But instead, she'd just been…emotionless. Weightless.

_Do you remember what we agreed?_

The voice hadn't been there before, but as soon as Lyra had heard its first words, it had seemed familiar.

_Of course not. I shouldn't have expected you to. _

….

Lying on the cold tile floor, pain stabbed through Lyra's head, and she was sure she dead.

She wondered briefly if Dawn would come to find her in Hell.

Fleetingly, she prayed that she wouldn't end up trapped in Heaven, but the notion was laughable, and Lyra quickly dismissed it. _Don't give up on me now, darling._

The voice. Lyra knew it. It had always been there, hadn't it? Even when she hadn't noticed. _Who are you? _She thought fiercely.

_We haven't met. Don't you remember?_

Lyra remembered.

….

The voice had come to her while she was sleeping, forced into endless dreams by the pain medication.

_Do you want to live?_

_No, _Lyra thought. "Yes," she whispered in her sleep.

_I can save you. _


	9. Chapter 9

**(Author's note: Just a warning, there's a couple more mentions of blood in this chapter)**

Will barely noticed when he dropped the knife.

He didn't hear it clatter to the floor.

He didn't hear himself yell Lyra's name.

….

The whole classroom erupted into chaos; there were several frightened screams. Most of the students crowded to the back of the room, where maybe they'd be safer. Mr. McKenzie tried to open the door that connected the room to the next, but it was somehow sealed shut. But surely someone must have heard the gunshot…surely help must be on its way.

Will, however, jumped over a desk in his efforts to reach Lyra's body.

Allison remained frozen in her seat.

"…_libertate servire_…"

Dawn flicked her wrist and Dean shot the speaker in the ceiling several times. The exorcism was cut off mid-sentence, only several words away from the end, as the intercom burst into shards of plastic. The Latin incantation was reduced to static, and tendrils of smoke curled from the hole in the ceiling tiles.

Dawn's face relaxed. "That's much better," she said, seemingly to herself. She lowered her palms; without the exorcism, she was quite stronger, and could keep the hunters suspended against the wall with no outward effort at all.

"You killed her. Why—" Sam tried to ask, but Dawn waved a hand nonchalantly in his direction and he was silenced.

"We found the letters," Dean said. "At the farmhouse."

"Letters?" Dawn seemed uncomfortable.

Dean tried to pull his head away from the wall so he could see her reaction better. "The love letters. We know you were together. So why would you—"

"Quiet!" Dawn commanded. "I _didn't._"

"Do you see me holding the gun?" she asked.

….

_I can save you. _

"How?" Lyra had asked, her voice soft and her face contorted as if she was having a nightmare. The nurse on duty had heard her, but had thought nothing of it.

Of course, the nurse had only heard one end of the conversation.

….

_I can save you. But there's something you must agree to first. _

Lyra had thought of her parents. Her little sister. Her older brother, whom she hadn't seen in so long.

She had thought of her friends, and her acquaintances, and her teachers.

Lyra had remembered. And then, she had imagined.

What would happen when she was gone.

What could happen if she were to stay.

_There's something you must agree to first. _

"Anything."

….

"Lyra! Lyra, no, no, don't be gone," Will was murmuring urgently, and somehow Lyra heard him. "Lyra, wake up. I love you. Wake up, wake up…"

He felt her wrist for a pulse, and then her neck, but he could find nothing. His palms were sticky with her blood, but he didn't notice, or didn't care.

Bits of plastic rained down on them when the intercom was destroyed, and he didn't even flinch. "Lyra. Listen to me. You're going to be okay. They'll get an ambulance. You'll be fine. Don't be gone, don't be gone."

He cupped her cheek in his hand. Her face was so pale…

Short tendrils of her dark hair nearly obscured her eyes, but he could see that they were closed. Her lips were parted slightly, and one side of her face was smeared with drying blood. Will kept his eyes averted from the actual wound.

"Please," he whispered. _Please. Anyone. Just. Save her. Please…_

With a ragged gasp, Lyra opened her eyes.

….

"Anything," she had agreed.

_All you have to do is say yes when the time comes. _

"When? How will I know?"

_Darling, you will be dead._

_I thought you said you could—_

"—Save me," she had mumbled fitfully in her dreams.

_I will. I will save you, and you will save me. But…_

"But what?"

_When the time comes—not this time, but the next—you will have to let go. I won't save you twice, darling. _

"Agreed," Lyra had murmured, and in her sleep she had smiled.

….

Her first last breath.

The hospital bed below her. The doctor's voice.

"Time of death—"

_Do you remember…? _

And then, life.

….

Until now.

Until Dawn had made the hunter kill her.

….

Lyra opened her eyes, but she wasn't Lyra anymore.

….

Lyra opened her eyes, and Will wept.

"You're alive, you're okay, Lyra, Lyra, can you hear me?"

She didn't say anything, but only raised a hand to rest her palm against his cheek.

"Lyra—"

….

Her eyes. They weren't green anymore.

They were blue, they were glowing, and her palm was hot against his cheek, and the _pain_—

There was an explosion of light and Will collapsed.

Her glowing, icy blue gaze was the last thing he saw before he was blinded.

It was the last thing he saw before he died.

**(Author's note: I know I wrote this last bit somewhat confusingly, but everything mentioned should be cleared up in the next chapter or two.**

**As always, please tell me what you think!**

**And thank you for reading!) **


	10. Chapter 10

_Lyra was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. The disease was spreading, her body wasn't responding to the treatment, the tumours were growing and she could count the days she had left on one hand. _

_But suddenly, there was a way to live. Not to live alone, however. To live with someone else, always, perched in the back of her mind. Another consciousness, another being, always present but not always quite _there_ enough to be noticed. All she had to do was let the angel in, the demon had told her as she slept. _

_"__Yes," Lyra had breathed. _

….

_Ambriel was an angel, cursed. An angel in love with a devil, but still trying to do the right thing, always the right thing. Cut off from heaven, her name was stricken from the records and her wings torn. She was Fallen now, cast to the Earth in a punishment that, though harsh by the standards of Heaven, was merciful in that it granted her a life with her soul mate from Hell. _

_But the only way to be with that demon, Dawn had reminded her, would be to live in someone else's body. To convince them to let her in. She would have to rob them of their free will, just to be happy, just to live. _

_"__You have to," Dawn had told her—had prayed to her. It was the first time Ambriel had known a demon to pray. "It's the only way. I don't want to be alone again. I can't let you leave again…" _

_Ambriel had to. She had no other choice. _

Not quite_, she realized. _

….

"A fucking _angel_?" Dean snarled. "Awesome."

….

_She knew she couldn't hide from them in Heaven, but she tried to run anyway. _

_Isaac Thomason's Heaven was quiet. Ambriel stopped there to rest. _

_"__Have you seen my sister? Her name is Lyra," he asked, looking worried. "She's sick. They told me she was sick. Can you help her? Please."_

_Ambriel shook her head in sorrow. "It is not right. There is an order. I cannot disrupt it." _

_"__Then why are you here?" _

_She shook her head again. "I'm sorry. I have to go." _

_…__._

There was another way, Ambriel had realized. She didn't have to take someone's life and free will. She could save someone from death.

She could give someone a second chance. A life for a life. Lyra would be saved, and in return, she would save Ambriel.

….

_Ambriel had met Dawn centuries ago, while the demon had still been human. _

_Ambriel had been sent to Earth on a Heavenly mission to smite Dawn, who then had gone by a very different name, one that no one uttered without fear, a name that mothers told their children when they spoke of monsters and fairy tales. _

_But Ambriel couldn't do it, couldn't bear to kill the girl with the flashing eyes. And in return, Dawn had been incapable of murdering the one person who had shown her mercy. _

_When Dawn died, she hadn't been able to save her. _

….

Lyra stood, and she wasn't Lyra, and Will was dead and Dawn was in charge and Allison was frozen and it was too much, too much—

Allison's dark human eyes met for a moment the electric, otherworldly blue that now dominated Lyra's gaze, and she was frightened, but still she couldn't move.

The angel smiled at her.

….

They had taken her wings, but they hadn't taken her Grace.

….

Ambriel woke as Lyra died.

_I won't save you twice. _

The boy was there. She didn't even think before she laid her hand gently on his face and ended his life. _He was going to kill Dawn. He hurt Dawn. _

For the first time in—how long? She wasn't sure—Ambriel had a body, a vessel under her command. It was a good body, scarred but strong, and no matter that the illness had taken one of Lyra's legs—the replacement was just as worthy. Lyra had asked if the angel could restore her limb, but Ambriel couldn't—she wasn't strong enough, after her Fall—and wouldn't have anyway. How could Lyra have explained the spontaneous regeneration of her leg?

The angel stood, momentarily locking her gaze with that of Lyra's friend, Allison. A good friend, who had meant well. She smiled at the girl, who gasped.

Ambriel closed her eyes and spread her wings—what was left of them, anyway. The fluorescent lights above burst, sparks raining over the classroom like shooting stars, and there was a high-pitched hum as she healed the bullet wound and gathered her strength.

….

Beth was worried.

She had finished the exorcism, but there had been feedback at the end, and the hunter hadn't returned.

_It hasn't been that long, _she told herself.

She decided to check the security camera in that hallway—just in case.

The camera feed went to several monitors in a mostly-unused room towards the back of the office. As usual, it was empty. Beth punched a few keys to access the right camera.

_Shit. _

There was smoke. It was trickling under the door and into the hallway. As she watched, there was a flash of bright white light.

Beth ran, stopping only to grab a letter-opener from her desk—useless, but at least it was something. Schools weren't really the best places to find weapons.

She pulled the fire alarm as she burst out the glass office doors into the lobby.

_Please don't let me be too late. _


End file.
